


Fishing

by eponymous_rose



Category: MASH
Genre: 1000-3000 words, Canon - TV, Friendship, Gen, Humor, POV Third Person, Slice of Life, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 22:51:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eponymous_rose/pseuds/eponymous_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morning in Korea, Henry figured, was a lot like any other time in Korea: dusty, dirty, gray, and about six thousand miles from home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fishing

The sun, struggling to rise somewhere beyond the craggy mountains, had only managed to put a dull gleam on a landscape that looked more forgiving in the dark. Morning in Korea, Henry figured, was a lot like any other time in Korea: dusty, dirty, gray, and about six thousand miles from home.

He turned. "Say, Radar, did you get the-"

"-bottle's in the jeep already, sir," Radar was saying.

"-bottle of gin, right," Henry finished. "Radar, one of these days I'll finish a sentence with something totally unexpected, just to throw you off."

"Oh, no, sir," Radar said, and paused to fumble with the clasps on the box of flies. "I mean, yes, sir. I mean, I'll be sure to expect the unexpected, sir."

"You do that," Henry said, and hopped into the driver's seat with as much energy as he could muster after yesterday's fourteen-hour sewing session. Everything seemed a bit duller than usual, a bit grayer, but he forced a grin for Radar's sake. "Think the fish'll be biting?"

"Oh, sure." Radar paused. "Uh, you don't think the artillery and the choppers and the war scared them off or anything, do you?"

Henry held up a hand. "Fishing small-talk, Radar. When I ask if the fish are biting, they're biting real good. Okay?"

That gave Radar pause. "Gee, fish have to listen to colonels, too?"

"They do if they don't want to get busted down to guppies," Henry said, and scrubbed at his eyes. "Oh, what am I saying? Get in the jeep, Radar."

"Uh, yes, sir," said Radar.

It took Henry a while to realize that Radar was, in fact, making no move whatsoever to get into the jeep. "What's the matter? Let's get moving - I don't want to be here when Frank finds that booby trap Pierce and McIntyre set for him last night."

"It's not that I'm not happy to be going fishing with you or anything," Radar said. "I mean, I wouldn't want to be a- a pest or nothing when you're treating me like a sir, sir."

Henry folded his arms on the steering wheel and let his head join them. "Radar, it's too early in the morning for this kind of conversation. Get in the jeep and unravel it for me, would you?"

Radar didn't budge. "It's just that I have a bad feeling about this."

With a sigh, Henry looked up. "Radar, it doesn't matter whether or not we catch anything. Hell, I don't care if we just sit around and chew the fat for two hours, because it's two hours I won't have to spend putting people back together while my back goes to pieces. Okay?"

"No, I mean a really bad feeling," Radar said, and flushed. "I mean, you know how I can hear the choppers before anyone else can?"

Henry felt a rush of dread that surprised him; after six months, he should be used to this sort of thing. "More wounded? I thought they'd just finished that push and there wasn't going to be any more fighting for a while."

"No, sir," Radar said, quickly. "Not exactly like that. I just feel like something bad's gonna happen if we go fishing."

Henry adjusted his hat, squinted at what he could see of the horizon between the rocky cliffs; the sun was coming out a bit brighter than yesterday, maybe. "Look, we'll just be around the bend, okay? Two minutes to get back to camp if anything goes wrong. Besides, I can tell you with great confidence that something really bad _is_ going to happen while we're gone, and it's going to happen to one Major Frank Burns."

That elicited a grin from Radar, at least. "Did you see what Hawkeye put just outside his bunk? I don't even know how he got that many to all lie down like that. And in the mud, too!"

Henry held up his hands. "Hey, if there's one thing I learned in Command School, it's that you don't hear anything, you don't see anything, and you get to take way more nice, quiet fishing trips as a result. Okay? Get in the jeep, Radar."

Radar got in.

The road was a disaster, as usual, but it seemed like it was a little smoother than it had been the last time; whatever haze had settled over Henry's eyes was beginning to lift, along with his spirits. That was the thing  so many people put all their time and energy into getting out of the war altogether, but just a little touch of normalcy here and there really made all the difference. For the rest of the trip, Henry distracted himself from Radar's unease by imagining Frank Burns's reaction to the order that all front-line units be equipped with a fishing hole.

"Probably doesn't even know how to tie his own fly," Henry muttered, and Radar smirked like he got the joke.

The little pond Henry'd claimed over the past couple months was just out of sight of the 4077, which in itself was enough to recommend it. Slim pickings at best, but it was quiet enough and peaceful enough that he could sometimes fool himself into thinking he was back in the States  where, come to think of it, fishing was a bit of an escape when Lorraine and the kids and the dog got to be a little much.

Henry killed the engine and sat for a minute, watching the sun on the water. "You do much fishing, Radar?"

Radar jumped, startled. "What? I mean, yes, sir. A little. My uncle took me. Only a couple times, though. I kinda felt sorry for the earthworms, you know?"

Shaking his head, Henry turned, debating whether to reach for the bait or the booze first. "How's that feeling of impending doom coming?"

"Oh, you know." Radar shrugged. "Maybe a bit doomier than before."

Henry opted for the gin. "Hey, did you get one of your bad feelings before this all started? The war, I mean."

"Well, not really," said Radar. "On the farm, though, the cows were all lying down on all fours just before we heard all about it."

"Huh," said Henry. "Well, grab a line, Radar. We should-"

Maybe Radar said something, or maybe he heard it coming, or maybe it was some sixth sense of his own that made him turn in time to see the dirt go flying not twenty feet away from them. "Mortars!" Radar bellowed, but Henry was already halfway out of the jeep, hands over his head, and he was thinking of the camp, of everyone he'd left behind, of his family, of Radar's bad feeling, but most of all he was thinking of the way the sun had looked on the pond, a bit of brightness in spite of everything.

The second shot was a bit farther away, and Henry took that opportunity to grab Radar by the collar and drag him away from the jeep. "Holy cow," Radar said, with feeling. "Holy cow."

Henry said something a little stronger that was probably making Father Mulcahy's ears turn red from here, but it was drowned out as their jeep made a strange little leap and burst into flame, and then it was all he could do to keep them both in one piece while dirt and bits of metal rained down.

And, just like that, it was over. Radar swiped some dirt from his glasses in a quick, nervous movement, poked his head up. "I think they're done, sir," he said.

"Yeah," Henry said.

"I think we can get up now."

"Okay."

They sat in silence for a while. At some point, Henry realized he'd managed to keep hold of the bottle of gin, and took a swig.

Radar shifted. "You think they're worried about us at camp?"

"Probably." Henry dredged up a reassuring smile. "We should start heading back before Frank realizes he's in charge."

Radar shot him a weak grin, and, scrambling to his feet, offered Henry his hand. "Yes, sir."

"All right." Henry hauled himself up, nearly pulling Radar back down with him. He stumbled a couple steps after he got vertical and told himself it was just the booze. "So much for fishing. I hate to go back empty-handed." He watched as a few sparks flew from the smoking husk of the jeep. "Maybe a little worse than empty-handed."

Radar was staring past him, at the lake. "Uh, that might not be a problem, sir."

Henry turned, and it took him a very long time to realize just what he was looking at. He whistled. "Well, I'll be damned."

"That's one way to go fishing," Radar said.

They were very, very silent for a few long moments, watching the fish bob on the surface of the water, like demented buoys, gleaming in the morning sunlight. Henry laughed first, loudly enough that it seemed to echo forever off the mountains, and then they were both in hysterics, leaning on each other for support.

So maybe they got back to camp a little later than expected, and maybe the bottle was a little emptier than when they'd left, and maybe Radar had to hold Henry up while Frank whined about his ruined uniform and his brainless bunkies, and maybe the casualties started coming in again, and maybe the whole damn war kept on going the same way it always had.

Maybe, just this once, the sun was a little brighter.


End file.
